


Recall

by foolsdiamond



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, but like a speedrun, descriptive fight scene of hanzo trying to kill genji, enemies to flirting to venting about their emotional disorders, genji "dies", hanzo has depression, last chapter is disgustingly fluffy, mccree has anxiety, so is the second
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-17 11:09:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16515239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolsdiamond/pseuds/foolsdiamond
Summary: Jesse McCree gets sent to collect Hanzo Shimada's answer to the Recall Overwatch recruitment.  Enemies-to-friends-to-lovers trope.  4 complete chapters with the promise of disgustingly sappy fluff and an organically domestic relationship.





	1. Warm Eyes

Since the recall of Overwatch, Jesse McCree had been exposed to a wider variety of people than the unique heroes of his found family.  From the sprawling streets of Numbani to the dense universities of Oasis, the cowboy’s role was one of sporadic necessity. He and everyone else who’d answered the call leapt forth with hasty organization to reinstate the force of good that had once held the hands of Earth’s leaders.

Jesse wandered the depressing, empty business district of a Japanese city, glazing over the foreign gibberish and adorable iconography while keeping an eye on the dim doorways and open entrances everywhere.  He’d received word from one of his friends about a potential recruit in the city, and definitely appreciates the prospect of another ally.

He passes by an advertisement for a movie and flashes back to when Genji Shimada first arrived.  Jesse hadn’t been with the organization for long when a sullen Shimada left the infirmary. His eyes glowed a daring red, and his skin was scarred monstrously.  McCree never had the guts to ask about what happened, but he crossed his mind more than a few times. 

After about a month of them working together in silence, Jesse finally took the initiative to break the ice.  He casually asked about family: talking about what a great cook his Maw was, and what a fine shot his Paw taught him to be.  Genji responded curtly. Mother dead, Father dead, and a brother. Jesse left it at that.

The next time the two spoke about family was last night.  Genji’s armor had been upgraded and improved; McCree couldn’t pick apart Shimada from his floating omnic partner until he finally spoke.

“You are traveling to Hanamura tomorrow.”

Jesse stared at the cyborg blankly.  “Yup.”

“Do you know the man you have been sent to recruit?” Genji asked.

“Names Hanzo Shimada.  Mafioso of some sort, right?  Big daddy of the Tokyo mob. I’m supposed to be hopin’ my manly charm sways him into seein’ eye to eye with us blueshirts.”

It was unfortunate that McCree couldn’t read Shimada’s expression through his illuminated visor.  He  _ knew _ what he said was inaccurate and stupid, but he felt it was a neat way to get something out of the stoic ninja.  Everyone needed a crack of humor from time to time, after all.

“Hanzo Shimada is my brother.  I assume you have forgotten that I am Genji  _ Shimada. _ ”  He was tense.

“Ah, right!  Thought I saw an armored feller like you somewheres before.”  McCree rubbed the back of his head, almost tipping his hat over.

“He is the heir to the Shimada Clan, a known criminal empire presiding over Tokyo, based in Hanamura.  Hanzo will likely be in his manor. I have spoken with him recently, to plant the thought of dissent, though I do not know how receptive he will be.” Genji said.

“To the invitation?” McCree asked.

“Or to the invader,” Genji said with a smile in his voice.

***

McCree wandered into the Shimada manor calmly.  The courtyard was stunning. The grass was neatly trimmed and well watered; the lower branches of the trees were pruned to a shaped canopy; small flowers and intentional shrubs lined the walkway.  It caught his attention for a dangerous second, brought back by the terrifying whizz of an arrow skimming Jesse’s loose locks. He’s momentarily disoriented by a pitched ping ringing out as the arrow lodges into the stone wall behind him.  He proceeds cautiously.

He managed to safely slip inside, where he could finally breathe.  Leaning back on the wall to gather himself up before proceeding.

While McCree was rusty with the stealth, his trigger finger was not.  He turned the corner and held the barrel of his gun to Hanzo’s chest, and in the same instant, felt the sharp edge of an arrowhead pressing onto his cheek.  The two stare at each other for an intense moment.

“Drop yer bow and I’ll drop the gun.  On the ground.”

Hanzo stares at him, then slowly, slowly pulls the arrow away.  McCree keeps his gun trained on the archer as he lowers his bow to the ground.  And once he’s upright again, the cowboy takes a step back and lowers this own weapon to the ground.  He doesn’t take his eyes off of Shimada.

The two men stand facing each other in dead silence.  Muscles and tongues tense, staring each other up and down.  Of course, just like with his brother, McCree is the first to break the ice.

“So, you wanna talk ‘bout your family?” he asks.

Hanzo doesn’t respond.

“Y’know.  Maw, paw, sibs.  Just tryin’ to lay the first stone, don’t look at me like I just held you at gunpoint!” says the man who just held him at gunpoint.

Hanzo milks the silence for what it’s worth, before responding with a soft sigh.

“Why are you here?” Hanzo asks.

McCree responds with an exasperated sigh of his own.  “You got the invitation, didn’t ya? Overwatch is reforming, setting up to do it’s whole world savey omnic-fightin’ deal.  We want you to join up with us.” 

Shimada stares blankly at McCree’s cheeky grin.

“Walk with me?” Hanzo offers.  

Hanzo collects and sheathes his bow and arrow, walking past Jesse calmly.  The cowboy scrambles to holster his Peacemaker and follow. Out in the bright morning sunlight, surrounded by the well kept green grass and small, pruned trees, McCree gets to take a better look over Hanzo.

Shimada’s graying hair is pulled back tightly, with loose, fly-away strands combed back off of his face and tucked lazily behind his ears.  His jawline was laced with thin stubble and razor burns. His shoulders were broad, with a sprawling tattoo tracing a line down his left arm.  His outfit looks archaic, like something out of a history textbook, down to the bulbous gourd hanging from his hip. 

Shimada pauses to glance back at McCree, then steps into a small gazebo in the center of the courtyard.  The cowboy takes a moment to walk in with him. The light flitting in between the slats on the walls illuminates the room just enough for Jesse to notice Hanzo staring at his eyes.  Or his face! It’s hard to tell which, really.

“Uh, startin’ to feel a little hot out here.  You got anywhere with AC we could head into?” McCree asked.

Hanzo stares blankly past McCree’s shoulder, then back at him.

“Why are you here?” Hanzo asks.  It takes Jesse a moment to respond.

“Already told ya, right?  Here to invite you to Overwatch.  I hear you’re a pretty killer shot with that there bow, and we could always use another someone with a deadeye,” he said.

“That’s not why  _ you’re _ here,” Hanzo said.

McCree stared blankly at Shimada, not really processing what the other was insinuating.  One of Hanzo’s firm hands extends forward to rest on the butt of his gun. Fingers curl around it, knuckles pressing into his hip, and the Peacekeeper is lifted up and pulled away.  Of course, the cowboy only watches, mystified. Frozen.

The ice cold barrel of his gun presses onto the metal of his chestplate with a soft  _ clink _ .  Hanzo stares intently at McCree’s eyes, squinting in the dim light.  Jesse swallows an uncomfortable knot in his throat.

“I dunno what you’re hoping to drag outta me with a stunt like this, but ain’t nothing else for you.  I’m here on Overwatch business,” McCree growled.

“You work with my brother.  Genji Shimada.”

“Ah, yeah.  I know him. He’s kind of a character, ain’t he?” McCree said.  “Makes me wonder though, why they decided to send me and not him.  Wouldn’t your brother do a better job of convincin’ you to join up with us?”

Hanzo’s thumb rolls over the safety, clicking.  His index finger remains resting on the edge of the gun, away from the trigger,  but damn; Shimada can probably feel Jesse’s heart racing beneath his chestplate. He grins.

“I killed my brother.  I do not think he would be interested in seeing me.”

Jesse feels dizzy; he’s forgotten what air feels like anymore.  Hanzo’s dark eyes blur together in the icy silence. McCree audibly gasps for air when the gun is removed from his heart.  A single, firm blow onto his neck knocks him out cold, crumpling to the ground at Shimada’s feet.

***

Everything is warm and soft.  The mat beneath him is plush, the blanket tucked around him is cozy, and the pillow holding his head is firm.  He sees the glint of his gun next to him, and relaxes. He’s still breathing, he’s still whole. An odd smell fills the air.  Everything is still quite hazy, but for the moment, McCree is safe.

“You’re awake,” comes a voice with an odd familiarity to it. Paw?

Jesse murmurs incoherently.

“Good.  We have much to discuss, Jesse.”  

Jesse, huh?  Definitely not Paw.  The cowboy is forced to actually take a look around the room, even sit up.  Hanzo is kneeling on a cushion next to his mat, and his gun is within arms reach of both of them.  He’ll leave it for now. McCree rubs his head, noticing a distinct absence of his hat.

“I got quite a few questions for you, Shimada,” Jesse growled.  Of course, Hanzo isn’t particularly fazed by the aggression.

“Go on,” he responds plainly.

“Well first of all, the fuck is wrong with you?  What the hell was up with all that out in the gazebo.  Bein’ all eyebally and flirty, then puttin’ my own fuckin’ gun to my chest and knockin’ me unconscious?  What are your  **motives** ?”

Hanzo looks a little amused, as though the answer is plain and obvious.  Of course, it isn’t, but it certainly leaves McCree feeling more than a little agitated.

“I did not want you to see the way to my home.  Particularly not the route to my room,” Shimada said.

McCree looked around again, now that he was finally waking up mentally, too.  It certainly was a bedroom; there was a mannequin with a set of armor positioned next to a modern wardrobe.  There didn’t seem to be many other furnishings in the room, nor a bed. A bed…? 

“Am I sleeping in your  _ bed _ ?” McCree blurted out.  Hanzo still looked amused.

“Technically,” he responded.  Shimada’s voice sounded…  _ warm. _

“So,” Jesse starts, taking another moment to figure out his thought.  “I still don’t get why ya wanted me in yer bedroom at all. I’d have sooner expected ya to kill me.”

The archer doesn’t respond.  He stares thoughtfully into the void, then rises to his feet and offers a hand to McCree.  He holsters his gun before letting himself get pulled to his feet by Hanzo’s strong grip. Neither of them loosen their hold on the other, eyes locked.

“Well?” McCree asks.

“I do not care for Overwatch.  I do not care for helping the organization which saved my brother’s life when I intended him to die.  I do not care for this war on the omnics. I am neutral.”

The cowboy loosens his grip on Shimada’s hand, but the gesture isn’t reciprocated.  “If you were planning on declining my offer, what’s the point of knocking me out and dragging me into your bedroom?  You coulda just gave me a big ol’ finger out in the courtyard and lemme get back to my work,” McCree said.

“I do not care for Overwatch.  But that does not mean I am declining the offer.  If there is an issue in the area and I am needed, I will give you my number,” Hanzo responded.

“You have a phone?”  McCree looked dumbfounded.

Hanzo releases Jesse’s hand and plucks a phone from his back pocket.  He offers it up, the new contact page open. The cowboy squints, then takes it and enters his number, listing his name as ‘McCree.’  He sends himself a text message of a single revolver emoji, so when he hands Shimada’s phone back and pulls out his own device, he can add Hanzo.  His phone buzzes in his hands--Hanzo sent a bow emoji with a big fat up-pointing arrow, followed by an asterisk. Cute.

“Alright.  So you ain’t agreeing to help out Overwatch, but you are agreeing to do me a favor, I guess?” Jesse asked.

“I suppose that is true,” Hanzo said.

McCree stuffs his phone back into his pocket and takes Hanzo’s hand again absently, glancing around his barren bedroom.  “You planning to show me around the rest of the place?”

“Oh?”

“Y’know.  Assuming any fighting happens here, it’d be nice to have an advantage.  I hate not knowing the lay of the land when I’m expecting to be tossing around a few bullets; I’m sure you could agree,” McCree said.

“Of course,” responded Shimada.

Hanzo’s manor is massive.  Several stories tall, archaic, well kept, well preserved, and clean.  Jesse finally saw the staff he was sure must work here, idle workers and low-wage cleaning staff doing their best to avoid the duo’s path.  The walls were decorated with portraits and artwork. Hanzo would briefly explain what the contents of each floor was as they descended, not wasting much effort with actually showing it.  Jesse was willing to take it at face value. He was simply enjoying the sound of Shimada’s voice at this point. His accent was strangely weak; he spoke very clearly, his words rolling off his tongue confidently, sharply, lingering on the archer’s lips.  

Hanzo stops abruptly, turning to stare at Jesse, their hands still locked firmly.  He looks back, taking in the archer’s sharp features in the fiery red sunset. His eyes look so tired like this.  There’s a trace of a smile left on his lips. Mouth parted in a hesitant silence, waiting to speak. He doesn’t actually say anything until McCree raises his eyebrows.

“Goodbye, Jesse,” Hanzo says.

“What?  Where am I going?” he responds, genuinely confused.

“Home?” Shimada asks.

“Pff.  I ain’t heading home until two conditions are met.  First off, you did  _ something _ with my hat and I ain’t leaving ‘til I get that back on my head.”  McCree stares at him expectantly.

The look on Shimada’s face is… cute.  Hard to put any other word to such a playful little grin, like he knew that was going to come up, and he had some sort of witty remark tucked into his belt to whip out and deflect McCree’s demand.  Or perhaps it’s just the smile that’s cute. Or the man that it’s on.

Hanzo leads McCree through his home, through the temple, and eventually, back into the courtyard; secrecy be damned already.  What a long walk, too. Jesse stares at Hanzo’s exposed bicep, thinking about how he must have been carried all the way up to the top floor.  Fuck, it’s too bad he was unconscious for the whole thing.

The cowboy dusts off his hat and sticks it back on his head, tilting it and shaking his head a little to make sure it’s fit just right.  He runs his index fingers symmetrically over the row of bullets on the band, to make sure they’re accounted for. Hanzo looks expectant.

“And the second condition?” he said.

“I ain’t leaving Hanamura ‘til you and me sit down at the nicest eats this place has to offer.”  Jesse winks.

“So long as the gentleman pays.”

McCree already knew he’d regret going so extreme with his proposition.  But what’s a little credit card debt compared to finishing off the evening with some of that Japanese sake and some Japanese ass?


	2. Smokey Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end for translations

The air was smokey and warm.  Black walls with gold filigree paintings and decaying parchment scrolls matched the thin, Baroque chandeliers spaced evenly throughout the building.  Some of the light came from waist-height pillars with a single, large, quartz sphere on each, offering a rainbow of stones and giving the room a unique depth.  The windows had heavy curtains kissing the ground, blocking out any natural light and giving the illusion of an eternal night. The tables surrounding the perimeter, all booths, had high backs with leather pads.  The tables themselves were glossy mahogany, with ruby red placemats beneath black china and gold flatware.

Jesse McCree sat impatiently in a booth seat.  He felt constricted; his body yearned to lean back and prop his dirty heels up on the table with a cigar clamped between pursed lips.  The heavy smell of alcohol wafting from the nearby bar filled McCree’s mind with memories of the plentiful saloons of his hometown. His eyes kept darting between the kitchen doors and the main entrance, anxious that the waitress would return before his date even arrived.  He bounced his leg beneath the table, his knee sometimes tapping the metal support beam, his heel sometimes tapping the slick tile floor. 

The waitress wins.  She was dressed in red with a black apron around her waist and an electronic pad in her hand.

“Hello sir.  My name is Haru,” she said, smiling warmly.

McCree tips his hat, then glances at the door again.  “Name’s Jesse, ma’am.”

“What could I get you to drink, sir?” she asked, offering McCree the holographic menu.  He waves it away. 

“Two waters to start, ma’am,” he said.

The waitress glances at the empty seat next to McCree and grins coyly.  The blue screen flickers off, and she recedes to the bar to bring him two glasses of water.  The cowboy turns in his seat to face the empty chair across from him. His leg starts to bounce again.

The waitress returned for a couple of follow-ups, getting waved away casually each time.  McCree can only loiter for so long before they’ll have to ask him to order or get out. He gruffly acknowledges the threat and sinks deeper into his seat, far enough to prop his feet up on the empty leather cushion across from him.

Jesse is almost asleep when the front door opens, and a person softly clearing their throat snaps him back.  He sits upright abruptly, jerking both his legs painfully. McCree slaps his metallic hand on the table loudly and fixes his hat with the other, the thick taste of the restaurant air seeping in past his parted lips.

Hanzo had changed into a suit, his hair combed and gelled and pulled taut into a bun, his smooth jaw glowing with rainbow highlights.  He’d really taken the time to clean up before coming here. He wore almost all black: pants, blazer, shirt, and vest, with a bright red tie standing out starkly.  The buttons on his ensemble were a glittering gold. His familiar, dark eyes glistened in the lighting.

Shimada bows quietly and takes his seat across from McCree, dragging the untouched water glass closer.  The two stare at each other; the archer smiles around his straw, while his partner is still staring agape.

Jesse had tried to clean up in the restroom after he’d been seated.  Using a bit of hand soap and water to pull his hair back into a tight, low-hanging ponytail, with loose strands pinned behind his ears or tucked into his hat.  He briefly tried to pluck a few stray facial hairs using his thick, jagged fingernails, but couldn’t get enough of a grip for satisfying results. At least he dusted his clothes off.

“I thank you for your patience,” Hanzo said.

Jesse just nods stupidly.  “Yup.”

Shimada glances around the restaurant.

“Where’s the waitress?” he asked.

“We’re gonna need to flag her down.  Staff was startin’ to get all,  _ Sir, we’re gonna have to throw you out if you don’t intend to order anything,”  _ McCree said, waving casually.  “Only, y’know, with less of a drawl and more of a smile.”

“I could not have taken that long.”

“Uh,” McCree starts, mulling over whether he should mention that he didn’t actually have anywhere else in town to go to besides the restaurant.  “Guess one of us has a better sense of time than the other. Either way, I’m still surprised it took you as long as you did for a little dare--not that you don’t look  _ stunning _ ; I’m seriously interested in the whole...” he trails off, waving absentmindedly around the brim of his hat.  Hanzo actually chuckles.

“I do not have an answer.  That is simply what I was doing.  Getting ready,” Shimada responds, smoothing a hand calmly over his gelled hair.

The waitress returns to the table, staring surprised at McCree’s date. 

“Ah, Haru.  We’ll have the usual.  He’s an American, so start him off easy,” Hanzo said confidently.  Haru bows and quickly taps in their order on her holographic menu. As soon as she returns to the kitchen, McCree leans in over the table.

“What’s the usual?  You tellin’ me you eat here on the regular?”  A pause. “Why the hell am I startin’ off  _ easy _ ?”

The archer merely looks amused.  He doesn’t say anything, watching as the waitress brings over two bottles and two ceramic glasses.  She sets a pair between each of them, then walks off with a silent smile. Hanzo nods acceptingly, then pours McCree’s drink before his own.

“Alcohol!  Sake, right?,” he asks.

Hanzo nods, downing a shot of his in a few gulps.  Jesse follows in suit, smacking the cup on the table a little too hard.  He licks his lips thoughtfully, then reaches for his date’s bottle.

“What is this, water?  You actually think I can’t hold my liquor?” the cowboy said, pouring himself a glass.  As an afterthought, he refills Hanzo’s before setting the bottle down and recorking it.  Shimada stares at McCree’s cup, as though he’d just mixed two unsavory flavors together. 

“Something light partners better with the strong flavors of our meal,” Hanzo said as Jesse tipped his head back and poured another shot down his throat.  He licks his lips a second time, self-consciously staring at Shimada’s mouth. His thin lips remain dry, but the corners are upturned just slightly. McCree suddenly wonders why the archer seems pleased.  It’s not like he’s done anything particularly flirtatious, though now that he thinks about it, that outcome is inevitable if the he empties the bottle alone by dessert.

“What  **did** you order for us, anyway?  I’ve had a big enough helping of surprises today already.”

“A basic curry,” Shimada said.

“You come to this big ol’ fancy place for a simple  _ curry _ ?  It’s richer than I could afford on a honeymoon, and you stop by regularly for a  _ spicy soup? _ ” Jesse asked incredulously.

“Volume, Jesse.”

“Right, sorry.”  The cowboy sinks a little lower into his seat.  “But for real, just a curry?”

“I appreciate a very fine bowl of  _ soup, _ ” Hanzo said, emphasizing the word  _ soup _ with… God, was that his attempt at a country accent?  

“Hey, another question.  When did you learn my name?  Don’t remember ever getting into the introduction phase, just sorta shoved our guns down each others’ throats and jumped straight on to sleepin’ in your bed.”

Shimada is silent for a tense moment.  His cryptic expression gazes blankly at McCree.  He’s noticed Hanzo isn’t all too expressive, especially not when he’s contemplating what to tell his date.

“I perused your wallet while you were unconscious,” the archer admitted.

McCree heats up in an instant, stuffing both his hands into his pockets to feel for his wallet, now that it’s presence is ambiguous.  He rests his empty palms flat on the table, staring at Hanzo. “You  **took** it?”

“I never had the opportunity to return it,” Hanzo said.

“So you  _ took _ it,” Jesse corrected.

“It fell from your pocket when you collapsed.  I did not feel it was appropriate to slip my hand into the pants of an unconscious man.”

“So when were you planning on returning that to me?  I recollect quite a few missed opportunities,” Jesse asked.  He doesn’t look all to upset, but he sounds furious.

“After our d--…” Shimada trails off, as though he’s looking for the right word.  So this is a date, huh? “After our dinner. I said the gentleman pays. I did not want to put the weight of the bill on your wallet.”

“Cute.  Could I maybe get that back now?” McCree holds a hand out expectantly.

Hanzo stares at it, then up at him.  He’s still got that small, slight grin about him.  While before it read as calm enjoyment, now it simply looked like he was being cheeky.

“I forgot it at my manor.  We can return home after and I will bring it out to you,” Shimada said.

“Fine.”  He can hear the groan in Jesse’s voice as he begrudgingly agrees.  “That wallet’s important to me, y’know. It’s got my life in it. That golden little emblem’s become somewhat of a mark for myself.”

“Ah.  It’s on your hat, too,” Hanzo said, to which Jesse tipped his hat forward.  

Both of them sit upright abruptly as Haru approaches with their food.  She sets two identical bowls of curry in front of the men, adds two fresh glasses of water to the table, and removes the first two.

“Anything else you boys need?” Haru asked.  Hanzo dismissed her calmly, then turned back to Jesse as she leaves.

“Hey, I remember this.  This is just like a country fried steak n’ gravy,” McCree said happily.  He forked a piece of pork katsu, making sure it’s got a good coating of the thick, brown curry sauce, then takes a bite.

“It is probably spicier than whatever you are thinking about,” Hanzo started, eating a spoonful of his own meal.  He’s right. The cowboy had been around the world and back, so of course this isn’t his first encounter with Japanese cuisine, but the American always had it cheap and bland.  His whole mouth lit aflame as he swallowed, but he didn’t look particularly fazed. He took a sip of water, then went in for another. McCree swallowed thoughtfully.

“Ain’t half bad, I gotta say.  Don’t taste a thing like Maw’s cooking, but it’s almost as hot.  I’d probably splash it with some Tobasco back home,” the cowboy said.

Both seem fairly pleased with their dinner, speaking little as they ate.  Jesse stares at Hanzo as he finishes his food much slower than the ravenous vagrant.  Once both their bowls are empty, McCree clears his throat and nudges the near-empty bottle of sake closer to his date.

“You know, I was wondering.  I don’t normally eat at restaurants with place settings before I’ve even walked through the door.  It makes me think we’re supposed to go through a couple of courses before we hit the tab.”

“And?” Hanzo asked.

“How come your usual is just a bowl of damn  _ soup _ ?” McCree asked.  

Hanzo tucks a few bills into the leatherbound checkbook their waitress had brought by, and the pair rise to their feet.  The slight grin waving on Shimada’s lips tightens playfully.

“The men I bring here do not typically leave their chair of their own volition,” the archer said.

What Shimada means doesn’t really sink in until McCree’s metallic fingers are clamping around Hanzo’s right hand.  “Oh.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Shimada repeats.

The pair leave the restaurant into the glittering light of predawn.  A gibbous overhead illuminates the quiet street. This district of Tokyo is all upper class establishments and businesses, most of which seem to have closed for the evening.  McCree lets himself be lead around town as Shimada slowly walks back through the 24-hour bustle of Hanamura.

The air in his manor is quiet as the sun rise spreads an orange glow through the windows.  Jesse is finally starting to feel the painful tugs of sleep kicking at the edge of his mind as he starts to count how many hours he’s been here.  Less than twenty four, but long enough that he might soon be hearing from the makeshift headquarters in Gibraltar.

“I oughta call ‘em and give ‘em a heads up as to why I’m still in Japan,” Jesse said, reaching for his cell phone.

“Who?” Hanzo asked.

“Overwatch.  Almost forgot I was here on business.  Dunno when it slipped my mind, probably when I got knocked  _ unconscious _ ,” McCree said playfully.

“I apologized.”

“Just picking, darlin’.  You wanna go snag my wallet and I’ll send Headquarters a memo not to come shred the mansion after me?” he said.

McCree stares at his date when he doesn’t respond.  It doesn’t really dawn on him until Shimada releases his hand and chuckles that he referred to the archer as  _ darlin’. _  He silently lets his date return to his home while Jesse stayed out in the temple, starting at the mess in the place.  He wanders up to a stray arrow lodged in the cracked wooden planks, then glances at the altar on the other side of the platform.  

_ I killed my brother. _

The look in Shimada’s eye when he had said that was terrifying.  Not quite joyful or proud, but there was no ounce of remorse. He truly did not want Genji to have lived through that.  McCree wonders how he must feel about that now, especially knowing his brother is barely alive.

Jesse returns to the court yard hastily.  The gazebo represents a much warmer memory, despite having his own gun pinned to his chest while in there.  He pulled out his phone to dial Gibraltar.

“Howdy Athena.  Let the boys know I got stalled up in Hanamura.  I gotta fill out the full report once I’m on the evac, but to settle any anxieties, Shimada said he’ll be in the area if he’s needed, but he ain’t leaving,” he said, looking around the courtyard as he talked.

“Howdy, Agent McCree.  Information recorded. Thank you for updating us,” Athena responded.  The familiarity of her electronic voice was very welcome after so many hours in Japan.

“Notta problem, Athena.  Got an ETA on that evac?”

“Please hold, Agent McCree.  There is someone on the line to speak with you,” she said, followed by a long, archaic dial up tone.  McCree hadn’t heard a noise like that in a very long time. He stared at the temple door tensely.

“ _¿Qué tal, Jesse?_ _No puedo esperar a verte de nuevo_ ,”* came an upsettingly familiar voice.

“The  **fuck** are you doin’ there?  ¿ _ Donde está Athena?  ¿Donde está mi  _ **_familia_ ** _?” _ McCree shouted.  

“Chill out, dude.   _ Están bien. _  Don’t assume I’m one to get my hands dirty,” the voice responded.  

“You get the hell outta there!  Leave them alone, get off the damn line, let me get through!” Jesse shouts to the empty disconnect tone.  No time on the dropship, no idea if they received his message, and no idea what she’s doing at Gibraltar. He paces the courtyard anxiously for Hanzo to return with his wallet.

McCree wrenches the leather billfold out of Shimada’s hand and stuffs it back into his pocket.  The archer leaves his palm facing upright, staring. Jesse huffs, shoving both hands into his pockets and breathing deeply.

“I gotta go,” he said.

“Something is wrong,” Hanzo responded.

“Yeah, somethin’s really fuckin’ wrong.  I gotta get lookin’ for the evac before they write me off as dead, assumin’ there’s any of ‘em left to do any evacuatin’ or writin’,” McCree said.  He was unable to stand still for long, pacing around the worn path in front of Hanzo.

“Do you require my assistance?  Either for your team, or your return home?” Shimada asked, watching his date pace.

The cowboy froze and turned to stare at him.  His expression blanks out as he contemplates the suggestion, then shakes his head.

“I dunno what’s actually up.  I’d hate it for you if you went to all the trouble of coming to Spain with me and the team is fine,” McCree said, tapping his toe on the ground.

“Perhaps I am due a better explanation, then,” Shimada asked, resting a hand on McCree’s metallic forearm.  His tapping toe stops.

“I called to let ‘em know I was ready, ask for when they planned to send me the evac dropship.  Got the usual response from Athena--AI runnin’ the place--but she told me I had a call. Didn’t get the option to agree or disagree, not that I woulda declined anyway.  And…” Jesse trails off, wondering how exactly to explain getting a personal message from the Sombra collective.

“Go on,” Hanzo urged.

“I recognized her voice, but fuck, she ain’t one of us.  Pretty sure she’s a part of some underground criminal hacker movement.  Anyway, she didn’t tell me much, said she ain’t one to get her hands dirty, but I’ll be damned if I trust her.”

Shimada looked thoughtful, his hand sliding down to hold McCree’s.  Metal fingers curl around his strong hand tightly. 

“Where is your evacuation coming from?  I will wait with you for the drop ship,” Shimada finally said.

The cowboy wanted to argue, but he couldn’t find a reason to.  So with a quiet sigh, he leads his date out of his manor and down the streets of Hanamura, into a large arcade.  There’s a tiny courtyard connecting a side-exit to the main street where Jesse drops down onto a bench. Hanzo sits next to him, glancing around before finally staring at his date.  

Shoulders brush as the two sit in silence.  MCCree is breathing heavily, bouncing his right leg so it won’t rub on Shimada’s knee.  The archer glances at him, taking in long, slow breaths. It’s definitely a heavy silence before Jesse finally thinks to match his breathing to the calm pace his date is using, and his muscles finally start to relax as his focus shifts to something more grounding.

Hanzo leans in closer, his cool breath tickling the hairs on Jesse’s upper lip (he recognized that brand of mint; it was the very best for a quick refresh after a strong meal).  He hangs there, then presses his lips onto a bare spot on McCree’s warm cheek. The cowboy leans a little heavier on his arm and turns his head, to catch Shimada’s lips onto his own.  It’s almost cathartic, to feel their lips finally press together, chapped against smooth, beards tickling each other. Hanzo sits still, hesitant, reciprocating as Jesse leans more heavily into it.  

He finally lets go, breathing still calm and focused, while now Hanzo’s is quicker.  Shimada flashes one of his small, warm smiles, while McCree’s whole face is alight with a stupid grin and warm ears.  

Jesse turns to face forward, leaning once more onto Hanzo’s shoulder.  The shorter man leans back, and the two wordlessly wait for the roaring engine of a dropship to come and collect McCree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS
> 
> “¿Qué tal, Jesse? No puedo esperar a verte de nuevo,” | What's up, Jesse? I can't wait to see you again.  
> ¿Donde está Athena? ¿Donde está mi familia?” | Where's Athena? Where's my family?  
> Están bien. | They are fine.


	3. Dead Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for explicit depictions of violence in this chapter

Hanzo Shimada slowly walked through the city as Hanamura’s residents began to wake up and leave for work and play.  He left his all black ensemble in tact, standing out against the young people dressed in bright pinks and neon greens passing by.  He had to take a detour through Tokyo, intentionally lengthening his walk home to pass by his favorite restaurant and stare at the sign in solemn peace.  He felt a tranquil warmth in his gut as he thought about his last bowl of  _ soup _ .  Well-dressed men and women surrounded him, all walking at a brisk pace to get to their day jobs or return home from the night.

This time of morning was always a strong transition period.  Nightowls were swept back under their rugs and daywalkers crawled out from their caves.  Hanzo passed by a barber shop and remembered when his hair hung low past his shoulder blades, silky and knotted from always being tied up without the time to comb it.  Now, his ebony strands rested messily on his shoulders, whenever he bothered to let his hair down. His jaw was always sloppy and rough, only seeing a razor once a week if he was lucky.  It wasn’t for a lack of time to groom, but more about budgeting money and effort. 

The assassin had undergone an extreme transition of his own.  He lived as a child in Hanamura, squeezing in time to play with his younger sibling, Genji Shimada, for the first several years of their lives.  As the two aged and were groomed into a predestined future in the Shimada Clan, the time they had to enjoy each other’s company grew less and less.  While Hanzo became more focused in his work, Genji sought to maximize his pleasure. The both of them excelled in their training and delighted in their combat abilities, working together to learn several martial arts and a few styles of swordplay.  As they were old enough to truly begin training for the illegal work of their father’s company, the two diverged; Hanzo took up patient archery, while his younger brother learned the light-footed ways of a ninja.

Hanzo was only 17 when his father died, his younger sibling was 14.  When the elder Shimada brother reached 21, he stood at the foot of a criminal empire he was to inherit, dwarfed (but not intimidated) by the shadow his father had left.  Genji, on the other hand, still 18, only just sampling the life of a free adult, wasn’t interested in his birthright. While the elders in the Shimada Clan pressured Hanzo into straightening out his brother, it became evident that there was no reasoning--or pressuring--the sparrow into joining him on his father’s throne.

The archer freezes in his footsteps as he remembers his first true assassination.  The two came to the temple in the Hanamura manor once a year to bring offerings to their ancestors, and to mourn their father’s death.  Genji was accustomed to arriving first by then, given Hanzo’s packed schedule as a Leader-to-Be. 

_ The younger brother knelt before the altar, arranging the same three items they always brought with them; he left the incense unlit, something the two always performed in unison. _

_ Hanzo did not interrupt Genji’s quiet grief rudely.  He was told by the elders of his Clan to dispose of his brother if he would not follow their ways, and although the very thought left his fingertips cold and his chest empty, the elder Shimada was simply too good at following orders.  He felt a dragon churning in his stomach, miles of mystical muscle grinding at his insides, screaming to be released. At least picturing his nausea as something fictional helped him keep his focus, at the time.  _

_ It would have been easier in secret.  To hold the arrow of a fully drawn bow to the back of Genji’s head, to not look him in the eye, to know he’ll die instantly, never knowing who actually finished him off.  But it was not an honorable death, nor an honorable action, and that was one of the young assassin’s worst pitfalls. He pointed his bow at Genji, drawing in a silent breath before he spoke. _

Hanzo looks at the door of his tiny Inagi home, resting his palm flat on the surface and leaning onto the sturdy wood for a moment.  He wants to think about something else, something lighter, more recent, less  _ morbid. _  His fingers fumble for the key as tanned leather and glittering bronze flash through his mind.  Images of a square jaw and unbrushed hair and warm, black eyes flutter through. Shimada absentmindedly rolls one of the deadly hollow points between his fingertips.  He wasn’t much a fan of guns, but there was something interesting about the way Jesse McCree’s Peacekeeper had felt in his hand: heavy and true and powerful. It would have to take a strong arm to resist the recoil on such a large gun.  

The assassin grabs his door key instead of playing with the bullets in his pocket and lets himself inside.  No matter how intently he focuses on McCree, or the date he was returning from, he can’t drown out the last words he thought he would ever exchange with his younger brother.

_ “Genji.  You only have one more chance to change your ways and join us.  This is not a game to be played anymore,” Hanzo hissed in their native tongue.  He watched Genji’s shoulders slump before a sliver of the ninja’s face stared at him. _

_ “Your own brother, Hanzo?” he asked solemnly.  He had learned to hide the fear in his voice at a young age. _

_ “You are no brother of mine.  You would sooner abandon your clan, your life, your  _ **_family_ ** _ for your vulgar desires,” Hanzo said. _

_ The young sparrow’s hand twitched, drawing Hanzo’s attention instantly.  The older Shimada braced himself to avoid a quick flash of the shuriken his brother kept hidden on him.  What he did not expect was the agile ninja dashing to his feet, avoiding a panicked arrow as the archer’s fingers loosened their grip on his weapon, and pulling his wakizashi* from its sheath. _

_ Hanzo can see the ceiling reflected in Genji’s blade as the tip hovers in front of his nose.  His breath fogs the cool metal as he tensely reassesses the scenario. The assassin drops down low and rolls to the side, sliding his arm through his bow and lunging for the sword on the altar.  He and Genji had both placed their first training swords on a stand, for their father; he was always so proud of the pair. Their father would watch the two brothers with their swordplay training; it was one of the only interactions the brothers  _ **_had_ ** _ with their father during their teenage years.   _

_ The assassin’s hand grasps the cerulean handle tightly, dragging the sword from its sheath in a fluid stroke.  He hesitates, staring at the sparrow with a heavy heart. Jaw clenched, Hanzo slices forward, aiming for his brother’s swordhand.  It won’t help terribly, given the agile sparrow is ambidextrous. But he took the younger off guard, forcing Genji back a few safe steps.   _

_ The younger Shimada lunged forward almost immediately, and Hanzo barely managed to deflect his sword with his own, leaving a deep knick in the ancient steel.  His sword really wasn’t meant for real combat.  _

_ The older brother attempted another strike, aiming low and slicing up, successfully dragging his blade through Genji’s clothes, through Genji’s armor, through Genji’s skin, through his left shoulder.  Blood welled to the surface; he hadn’t cut very deep yet, but crimson began to soak the ninja’s white robe. Hanzo can see his brother biting his lip to resist the pain. He was still so young. _

_ Genji didn’t hesitate, reaching into a pouch on his hip and chucking three sharp little knives at Hanzo in a quick blur.  He tried to dodge, only missing the first two; the last shuriken connected with the older Shimada’s thigh, easily slicing through his thin pants. _

_ Ignoring the pain searing in his leg (which could not have been nearly as bad as what his brother is enduring), Hanzo leapt forward, the sharp tip of his training sword piercing the younger brother’s torso and slicing through.  He felt the metal drag over Genji’s ribs, then sink in a little lower near the top of his chest, ripping through his right shoulder. _

_ With the sparrow stunned, Hanzo went in for another slash, dragging his weapon perpendicular to the last cut.  The tip of his sword nearly went through Genji’s throat, instead slamming into his jaw; it was not strong enough to rip the bone, but it left a heavy gash on his face, dripping blood instantly. _

_ Genji stumbled back, retreating silently to regroup, to collect himself.  He was scared to die, and Hanzo was scared to do it to him. The adrenaline boiled in their blood, and all either of the two could feel was hatred. _

Hanzo Shimada realizes where he is, finally, as the hot water of a shower washes over him.  It takes quite a bit of shampoo to finally work the gel out of his hair. He looks up at the mirror in his shower, staring at his sullen face as a wave of grief and regret hardens in his gut.  Shimada stays in the shower until the water runs cold, slowly rolling a bar of soap over the scars on his right arm.

_ Hanzo had lost track of Genji in the temple when the bleeding ninja dashed off.  He got distracted by the bloody tear in the scroll  _ **_he_ ** _ caused.  He, Hanzo, had defaced this sacred temple and their father’s altar trying to  _ **_kill_ ** _ his brother. _

_ “ _ **_Ryūjin no ken o kurae!_ ** _ ” _

_ Shimada turned around quickly, narrowly saving himself.  The agile ninja had gotten behind him, aiming for Hanzo’s heart, a glowing green dragon swirling around him menacingly.  He only took a heavy, fiery, burning slash through his right chest, matching the deadly gash he had given his brother. _

_ Hanzo dropped his sword immediately and began backing up, taking a hasty look around the place.  He threw himself at the nearby wall, using the wooden boards and his powerful legs to launch himself above the altar, onto the wooden canopy.  He withdrew his bow and drew back an arrow quickly. _

_ “ _ **_Ryū ga waga teki o kurau!_ ** _ ”  _

_ The younger Shimada brother is frozen momentarily.  He was outmatched from the start; Hanzo had more years of training and more time to dedicate to his work.  Summoning his dragon was a last resort, and Genji had hoped to cripple his brother and escape. The look of fear in his eyes was clear; he did not expect Hanzo to be able to tough out the searing agony in his arm, nor be able to summon his own dragon.   _

_ A set of brilliant blue twins rolled from the tattoo down Hanzo’s left arm, his whole right side burning fiercely, dizzyingly.  He released the arrow, lodging it into Genji’s left shoulder. The full, burning fire of his spirit dragons was more than his younger brother could handle.  Genji collapsed, screaming, burning, burning. Hanzo returned the sword back to their father’s altar, staring at his sibling with cold eyes. _

_ “I am sorry, Genji.  I must put my namesake, and my  _ **_family_ ** _ first,” Hanzo said, his voice flat, his expression blank.  He left quickly, leaving his brother to succumb to his wounds. _

Hanzo is breathing hard.  He avoided thinking about that night, about Genji, for years.  Paying his respects once a year on the anniversary of his father’s--and now his brother’s--death, and suppressing the thought for the other 364 days.  Seeing his brother a few weeks ago, followed by meeting an actual representative from Overwatch…

Shimada pulls his phone off of his bedside table, now that he’s dressed in his nightclothes.  It’s mid afternoon, but he didn’t typically abide by the sun. He works when his targets are asleep.  

The assassin opens up a conversation with an unknown contact, reading it blankly.

“Overwatch has an offer,” they had said.

“I am not interested,” Hanzo responded.

“You know you are curious.  We are meeting in Hanamura.”

Hanzo thought that was an odd choice; he didn’t live in Hanamura, and surely anyone who could get ahold of his number would know that.  He left his childhood home the moment he killed Genji, only returning to pay his respects to his fallen sibling. He never responded, and a day later, a meeting time was given.

Shimada rereads the unknown’s messages thoughtfully, then finally adds it into his contacts list as Genji.  He spots McCree on the tiny list.

“How is your team?  How was your journey?” he sent.  Hanzo lays his phone down on the nightstand and rolls over to go to sleep, surprised at how quickly he gets a response.  He snatches the device back up instantly.

“Alright.  Athena got hacked is all.  We fixed her up and made sure all heads were accounted for,” McCree responded.  The assassin was relieved.

“And how are you,” Shimada said.

“Ill be just peachy ducky.”

Hanzo stares at the message, trying to think of a way to respond.  Jesse catches him first.

“Ill be just peachy dude*” he corrected.

“I’m glad,” Shimada finally said.  

“And you?  You doing alright too now that I’m back home?” McCree said.  The assassin didn’t have a response for him, not an honest one.

“Fine.  I am going to sleep now.  I am glad you are safe.”

“Gnight then,” the cowboy sent.

Hanzo stares at his cell phone blankly, before finally resting it back down and closing his eyes.  His whole body feels sore; he can feel a fire in his shoulder and a sting in his thigh. The wounds had finally dissolved into scars over a decade ago, but they hadn’t stung this bad since they were fresh.

It takes Shimada a while to finally fall into an uneasy rest.

***

Hanzo has depression.  There is no other way to say it.  He can focus on work, the occasional hits that space out the time he spends attacking the Shimada Clan’s criminal empire, and he can maintain regular contact with the few people he would consider a friend.  To the extent that an anachronistic assassin could be considered normal, Hanzo appeared as such. It really helps that he barely talks with his meager contacts list, giving too few people insight into his emotional state.

Happiness is fleeting, but that isn’t anything new to him.  Sorrow is also an elusive emotion, his grief locked away beneath a heavy steel door 364 days out of the year.  Enjoyment, distress, empathy, disgust. He just had a hard time feeling. It’s an excellent trait for a killer.  No emotion, no attachment, just another tick on his ever-growing hit list. The inability to properly experience his emotions was not much of an asset elsewhere.  He knows he is easily enraged, much moreso as the years pass by from when he was actually forced to keep himself in check under the Shimada clan, but a quick flash to intense emotion is just as unhealthy as feeling none of it.  

Hanzo rolls out of bed and goes straight for his bathroom.  He touches his scruffy jaw while examining his face in the mirror; his under-eye bags are dark and deep, his facial hair untamed and wild, and his regular hair matted from restless sleep.  He picks through the bin on his counter for a clean razorhead, eventually giving up and using the blades still on the handle. It wouldn’t be a very crisp shave, but it’s not like he had a date this time.

Shimada sits back down on his bed, showered and dressed, and notices his phone vibrating.  It looks like there are several text messages from the past day, on top of a phone call.

“ _ Ohayō _ ,*” Hanzo said as he answers the call.

“Never heard you so excited to see me,” came a familiar voice.

“Ah, Jesse.  This is the first that you have called me,” he responds.

“Well, I might have sent a few text messages first, but after an hour without a read, I was starting to think you weren’t gonna make time to respond.  Glad to hear you’re alive, at least. You doing alright?” McCree said. Hanzo stares at his sunlit bedroom quietly, taking two separate prompts from his conversation partner to finally decide how to respond.

“No.”

Now McCree falls quiet for a spell.  He breaks the silence with a whisper.

“Are you safe right now?” the cowboy asks.

“Yes, I am safe.  I am at my house,” Hanzo said.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong, then?  I got both ears wide open. Even if only one of ‘em’s on the phone.”

It’s almost been two weeks since Hanzo and Jesse’s date.  The word  _ date _ still felt raw in his mouth, unfamiliar, forbidden.  It had been so wonderful, to share his favorite meal with McCree, to enjoy a bowl of curry and a bottle of sake with the intent of, dare he say,  _ romance _ , as opposed to subtle murder.  Shimada still remembers the look in his eyes as he gazed forward intently, the intense stare of the puzzling cowboy as he stared back.  

“It is nothing to worry about, Jesse.  I will  **be** okay, eventually,” Hanzo finally responded.

“Stay safe, y’hear?” Jesse finally said after a long pause.

“Of course.”

“Just so you know, in case those messages got lost somewhere--” Hanzo pulls his phone away as McCree talks to look at twenty missed texts.  “--We’re fixin’ a visit to Japan soon. I don’t know the gathering point, but everyone’s dropping off around Kanto and migrating.”

“Of course, Jesse.  Inform me of your drop location and time, and I will welcome you here,” Shimada responds.  He wasn’t quite sure yet if he was excited by the prospect of seeing McCree again. Judging from the estimated time of arrival he received last night, he won’t have very long to prepare himself for this.

“Already sent ‘em to ya.  Just check your text messages, I think it was about one in the mornin’ in your time zone?”

“Yes, I just saw it.  What should I be expecting?,” Hanzo asks.

“Uh, dunno the full strategy yet, but I reckon you and me could convene before the others make their way over.  That way I can get an idea of what kinda place we’re in, where to position myself, get comfortable,” Jesse said.

“Of course.  Where are we meeting?”

“How quickly can you get yourself to Inagi from Hanamura?” the cowboy asked.

“Faster than you can believe,” he responds coyly.  “I will send you an address to find me at shortly.”

“Sounds good!  See ya soon, Hanzo.”

“I cannot wait, Jesse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATION NOTES
> 
> Inagi is a city in the western Tama area of the Tokyo metropolis. It's southwest of Hamura, about where "Hanamura" would likely be seated in the Overwatch timeline after a merger or division
> 
> A wakizashi is the small sword at the base of Genji's back. They've actually got a pretty interesting history.
> 
> Ohayo means good morning


	4. Tranquil Stealth

An inky black sky stretched across the ceiling, the bottom edges etched with a bright gray glow from the 24-hour bustle of Tokyo.  Stars dapple the night sky, like a sprinkle of diamonds littered over aging black velvet, twinkling. Hanzo’s Inagi home was a small one-story building with five rooms: a bedroom,  living room, kitchen, dining room, and a single bathroom. He lived humbly; he wasn’t home very often, and he didn’t have the means to upkeep an estate like the Shimada Manor in Hanamura.  The roof dipped and curved in a traditional style, with a single wooden perch Shimada added as a seat. He had it installed with the intent of using it as a sniper’s perch, but it was a wonderful view of the sky past the low hanging maples filling his tiny, fenced-in yard.  

A cat meows loudly from its fencepost down below, followed by a swear and a dull thud.  Hanzo leaned forward, squinting in the darkness at the intruder. Without hesitation, the assassin withdraws his bow and fires a warning shot into the branch of the tree above him.  The whole limb rattles with soft green leaves, and the invader puts a hand onto his hat and looks up.

“Ah, there you are, Hanzo!” he said happily, considering he was two feet from having an arrow pierce his skull.

“Jesse.  I’ll come down,” Shimada responds.

“No, don’t worry about it.  I’ll make my own way up there, think I see the route now.”

Hanzo sits back down and makes space for Jesse.  The assassin assumes he knows the route McCree will use--a foothold on the windowsill, a handhold on the wooden support beam holding up the curved rooftop, then a leap onto the scaffold. 

The cowboy takes a few long strides back, stares up at Hanzo, then pulls himself up into one of the trees and launches himself from the spindly branch as it cracks loudly.  He clings onto the edge of the roof, unable to get a good foothold as he drags himself up. McCree sits down on the scaffold next to Shimada and offers him a cheeky grin as he straightens his hat out.

“You broke my tree,” the assassin said plainly.

“Aw, it’ll grow back.  You gotta be at least fifty pounds lighter than me if you got up here without snapping that thing, though,” the cowboy responds.

“I actually scale the side of my house.”

“Hold on, this is your house?  You live here?” McCree said.

Hanzo stares back at him blankly.  He realizes there’s no way the cowboy could have known they were at his house, but…

“You believe I sit atop conveniently placed wooden platforms on random people’s homes to speak with friends?”

“Aw hell, I don’t know much about you in general yet.  We got some time,” McCree said.

He turns to stare up at the sky, and Shimada does too.  Gazing up at the stars, blinded by the bright lights of nearby Tokyo.  They couldn’t actually see much; the moon was full and glowing golden, with thin clouds sparse around it, but they couldn’t see the band of the Milky Way being so close to the city.

“I got here early, honestly, and I’m glad you apparently  _ live _ here.  I’d have one hell of a time wandering this lil’ city on my own.  We have about two days until the rest of the team shows up, then we’ll regroup and brief in Hanamura,” Jesse continues.

Hanzo takes his gaze from the cosmos to look at McCree.  “Hanamura?”

“Yup.  That’s all I know so far.  We’re heading to Hanamura and it’s got something to do with your Shimada Clan,” Jesse said, taking his mystified stare down to look back at Hanzo.

“I feel you do not grasp the entirety of my situation involving the Shimada Clan,” he said.

“Y’know, you’re probably right.  I don’t much get your relationship with Genji, either.  When we met, you told me you killed him with this glint in your eyes, like you were proud of it, or distraught at you failing to off him.  It was kinda frightening, to tell you the truth,” the cowboy said, rubbing the back of his head and tugging on his hair awkwardly.

“Genji and I were the children of the head of the Shimada Clan.  It was our birthright to overtake our father’s place as leader,” Hanzo begins, looking now at the silver moonlight washing over his yard.

Jesse doesn’t take his stare off of the assassin’s face, patiently letting him continue.

“As you know, it is an organization that deals in illegal trade.  It evolved into that state; my namesake was noble when it was young.  After our father’s death, Genji did not want to continue or participate, and those temporarily in power encouraged me to deal with him.  After he continued to decline my pleas for him to comply…” Shimada trails off. 

The cowboy puts his hand on Hanzo’s knee, squeezing it tightly.  There’s a heavy silence in the air. Shimada rests his own hand on top of McCree’s, and the two knowingly look back up to the vast night sky.  

“So, what happened after all that?  He’s here, you’re here, how’d that all go down?  I never did much talk to the kid about how he got his bionics,” Jesse finally asked.

“I understand little, honestly.  You will need to speak with him for his own story,” Hanzo begins, closing his eyes.  “After killing my brother, I almost immediately took leave of the Shimada Clan, abandoning my home.  We were still quite young… I could not live with myself anymore, not with my own kin’s blood on my hands.”

“And Inagi?  Skip to that part.”

“I wandered for some time before I had enough money to buy this house.  It’s cheap, it’s simple. I spent several months switching between rental rooms and borrowed spaces when I was not sleeping on suburban rooftops or on city curbs,” the assassin said.

“Damn.”

There’s a very long silence between the two mercenaries.  Hanzo pulls both of his hands onto his own lap, and McCree retracts his own to fiddle with the joints on his prosthetic hand.  The night air is light and soft, passing easily around them as they’re both sitting frozen in time.

“Tell me your story, Jesse.  Now that I have shared mine,” Hanzo finally said.  Neither of the two take their gazes away; the assassin is watching the rhythmic sway of the trees in his yard while the cowboy counts the stars in the night sky.

“I was always a pretty good shot as a young’un.  In my early teens, I got roped in with a pretty nasty crowd, and by the time I was dropping outta high school, I was a pretty fearsome arm in the Deadlock Gang,” McCree said.  Shimada notices how matter of fact he sounds, like he’s recounting a biography and not his own life, like he’s distanced himself from such a past already.

“Dealt with ferrying illegal arms and some military weapons around the Southwest of America.  Actually sounds quite a bit like what ya were born to do, now that I’m thinkin’ about it. Kinda ironic, huh?”

“But then you had a change of heart and joined Overwatch during its prime?” Hanzo offered.

“Oh hell no,” Jesse starts.  “Overwatch fuckin’ rigged us up, got about half of us all wrangled up into one big cell.  All my friends and coworkers, my new family, caged up. I remember sitting in that cold, dim interrogation room, with a big ol’ bear of a man looming over me.”

McCree stares down at the earth, moving his arms behind his back and pinning his wrists together.

“I wouldn’t look up at him until he spoke in Spanish at me--most people never suspected I was fluent.  Maw’s from Mexico, Paw’s from America. Grew up speaking both in my house. I still remember what a shiver it put down my spine hearing that smooth growl,” the cowboy said.

Hanzo utilizes the momentary pause to press a little further.  “What  _ did _ he say?”

“ _ ¿Estás listo para morir? _ ”  A pause.  “Are you ready to die?”

Shimada doesn’t say anything this time.  He lets McCree rest on those words, giving him all the time he needs to pick back up.

“I was given the option to join up with Overwatch, to join Blackwatch.  Sort of a, covert ops I reckon? I decided it beat rotting in a cell, and part of me was kind of eager for a second start, so I took it.  Finished my education, got formal training, mastered my Peacekeeper. I hopped once some drama got tense between my two bosses, and I’ve been roaming around as a gun for hire ever since.  Up until the monkey gave me a recall notice, at least,” McCree said. He sounds much more animated now that he’s shifted to talking about his good deeds.

“A gun for hire?” Shimada asks.

“Yeah.  Only gonna point my barrel at any scumbag or asshole I figure deserves it.  I reckon working as a force of good might eventually compensate for all the bad I did back in my teens,” Jesse said.  He glances at Hanzo now, who’s face looks brighter in the moon’s silver sheen.

“Interesting parallel.  I too have been seeking redemption through my mercenary work.  Particularly aiming to dismantle the criminal empire that stole my brother,” the assassin said with a smile.

“You know, I have an old saying my Maw taught me that kinda suits the whole concept,” Jesse said, and Hanzo turns to look back at him curiously.

“Go on, then.”

“ _ Para vivir es chupar la verga, _ ”* the cowboy said with a big fat grin.

“I do not speak Spanish.  Does that translate well into English?” Hanzo asks.  

“Oh, uhhh.. Yeah, means…   _ To live is to fight… your sins,”  _ McCree finally says.  It took him a minute, and Shimada stares at the hitman for an equally awkward length of time before he finally responds.

“Interesting.  I have one of my own.   _ Retasu. _ ”

“And it means?” Jesse prompts.

“ _ Retasu _ means to never give up.  It represents the value of perseverance, of fighting until it is over,” Hanzo says calmly.  He’s almost positive the cowboy isn’t stupid enough to detect a bluff like that--the word  **sounds** like  _ lettuce _ , but the stupid grin on his face cues the archer in that he was duped too.

***

Hanzo and Jesse sat on the rooftop until sunrise, talking back and forth about their experiences, their lives, their motives, their feelings.  When the first orange rays of dawn finally illuminate Shimada’s tiny yard, the two descend from the rooftop and retreat inside. The assassin is already starting to feel more comfortable around his companion; the surreal date they had a couple weeks ago feels much more tangible, as does the memory of McCree’s face on his own.

The cowboy goes straight for the kitchen, and Hanzo is absentmindedly lead.  It isn’t until the two are standing there in the small room before Jesse turns around to stare at him questioningly.

“What are you looking for?” Shimada asks.

“Ingredients.  I need eggs and sausage and potatoes to make us some breakfast,” McCree responds.  He doesn’t seem to react to Hanzo’s vacant stare.

“You can’t cook.”

“The hell do ya mean I can’t cook?  Gimme a knife and a tater and I’ll show you I can cook!” Jesse said.

“You are the guest, Jesse.  It is my role to cook for you, as host,” Hanzo said, moving to usher McCree out of the kitchen.  He stands perfectly still, arms crossed.

“Ain’t no reason I can’t cook!”  McCree stares adamantly, melting after a second.  “But if you’re gonna insist, I might as well try whatever you got planned.  But I’ll strike a deal with you,” the cowboy said, holding onto the edge of the counter with his metallic hand and leaning heavily into it.  Shimada watches his bicep flex from the sudden pressure, then looks plainly up at his face, staring expectantly.

“We both cook it together.  Lemme show you what I can cook, and I’ll eat whatever kind of breakfast you want to cook,” Jesse said.  

“I have few ingredients.  You can use whatever you find,” Hanzo finally responds.

The two set about silently.  McCree watches the assassin put two servings of rice and water into the rice cooker and begin pulling down plates and bowls while glancing over at the cowboy’s own process.  He’s cubed a few golden potatoes and an onion, tossing them around with some chopped bacon. Jesse clears out a hole in the center of the pan and drops a couple of eggs in it, scrambling them with all the delicious grease and flavor of the other ingredients, then gives it all a brisk stir and pulls it off the heat.

Hanzo sets the table, placing a bowl rice down in front of two chairs with a nice helping of  _ nattō _ on top.  He sets a small dish with a few pieces of  _ nori _ next to it, and a plate with whatever the fuck McCree decided to cook.  Each receive a glass of water, a spoon,and a set of chopsticks.

The cowboy picks up a soybean with his well washed hands, his lip curling at the long trail connecting the single legume to the rest of its siblings.  Hanzo wants to sneer at the foreigner’s lack of a pallet, but after three decades of rice and nattō for breakfast, having something cooked in a pan feels foreign to him as well.  The assassin plucks a chunk of potato with his chopsticks, bacon glued to it by a clump of scrambled egg.

“It smells interesting,” Shimada said before nibbling on it.  McCree finally eats the bean he’s been playing with, clicking his tongue thoughtfully.  It’s clear he doesn’t enjoy it.

“Try it with the rice,” the assassin said, working his way around his breakfast plate by plate.  Jesse complies, but he still doesn’t seem interested. He scarfs down  _ his _ cooking, even the pieces of seaweed Hanzo had set out, but he avoids the bowl of rice.  Shimada waits until the soybeans were the last thing left on McCree’s plates before he offers to help.

“I could get you soy sauce.  My brother fondly ate his with mustard, though I am not a fan.”

“Ugh, it ain’t the flavor doin’ it to me.  Whatever that  **goo** they use to glue those beans together is what’s killing it.  I could tolerate the taste,” the cowboy said, pushing his plate away at last.  He picked as much of the rice away as he could.

The two do the dishes in silence.  Hanzo reluctantly tosses the remainder of Jesse’s food while the cowboy starts the hot water in the sink.  They work pretty well in unison, washing, drying, and hanging. As McCree sets the last glass on the drying rack, he glances up at the clock.

“Hey, we never actually got around to going to sleep.  We oughta get some rest. Hope I ain’t intruding.”

“There is space on my couch for you, if you want it,” Hanzo responds.

“Of course.  Thank you for your hospitality, Hanzo.  It’s been pretty swell,” Jesse said, taking his hat off as he walks back into the living room.  His dirty boots look so out of place next to Shimada’s sandals.

McCree hangs his hat up with his serape, then slides off the chestplate he always wore.  Unlayering down to a t-shirt and pants, awkwardly laying his extra clothing onto the coffee table.  He motions for Hanzo to join him once he’s seated on the couch.

“Sleep is nice and all, but before we actually waste the day away, I got something important to ask you,” Jesse said, turning to look at Hanzo.

Hanzo stares back.  He has no idea what else could be more important than sleep, after McCree  _ himself _ was the one encouraging them to finally rest.  Now the assassin felt the gentle tugs of exhaustion in the corners of his eyes and his bed felt so tempting in the other room.  “What is it?”

“We went on a date, didn't we?  Asked you out, we sat and had a nice conversation for a spell, we ate.  We kissed.”

Shimada doesn’t dare disturb the heavy silence in the air after the word  _ kissed _ .  They had; he had wanted to at the time, to comfort the anxious cowboy, to complete the whole date, for the sake of doing it.  If McCree hadn’t pressed himself into the kiss, the assassin would have shied away completely and ignored it ever happened. After two weeks of little to no conversation between them, the whole ordeal just felt like a surreal dream; he still thought about the cowboy, about dark eyes and brown hair and an untamed beard and his strong arms and his decorated prosthetic.  It’s hard to feel anything when the only work-unrelated message Hanzo ever received was a picture of a stray cat--a very cute and very friendly cat, but still, only the one.

“Hanzo?” Jesse asks gently.  He leans his shoulder onto Hanzo’s.

“Yes, we did.  We ate, we kissed, we parted ways.  We are work associates, Jesse,” the assassin said.  He sounds calm, almost confused--he’s had plenty of practice with concealing his tone.

“Well, why’s it gotta be just that?” Jesse starts, waiting until he has Shimada’s full attention to continue.  “If you're feeling any special way, particularly as special a way as I’m feeling,there ain’t no good reason neither of us actually talked for the past couple of weeks.”

“Get to the point,” Hanzo snaps.

“Don’t you wanna put a  **name** do it, to make it official?  Don’t you wanna go out with me, full on?  To be  _ boyfriends _ ?”  McCree gets much quieter, and Shimada feels more of his weight.  “Don’t you wanna kiss again, at least gimme that.”

The assassin certainly didn’t  _ mean _ to yawn.  Waves of exhaustion squeezed him, putting more pressure on his drooping eyelids than all the weight of the cowboy next to him.  The moment Hanzo’s lips touch back together, he wrenches his gaze away from Jesse to look nervously at the man’s small pile of clothing and accessories on the coffee table.  His face feels warm, and it only worsens the situation.

McCree casually wraps his arm around Shimada’s shoulders, holding him there in silence.  He doesn’t push any further. 

Hanzo leans into the embrace, thinking about his response in a lead silence.  It’ll take Jesse a while to finally realize the archer fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the conclusion!!! I *promise* Hanzo says yes, just let him have his nap!
> 
> TRANSLATION NOTES: 
> 
> "Para vivir es chupar la verga" | To live is to suck dick
> 
> "Retasu" | Lettuce
> 
> nattō | Fermented soy beans
> 
> nori | Dried seaweed that's undergone a process similar to papermaking


	5. Bonus Content

Bonus! Some dialogue snippets from my draft log.

Hanzo: So, do you prefer cats or dogs?  
McCree: Cats or dogs? Pff. You first.  
Hanzo: Dogs.  
McCree: I’m a horse person, m’self.  
Hanzo: Horses?  
McCree: Yeah! Big, beautiful ol’ beasts.  
Hanzo: I was referring to something to rest on one’s lap, mostly.  
McCree: Yeah?  
Hanzo: Horses are not lap animals.  
McCree: Not if you’re not a fuckin’ pussy.  
***

Hanzo: I actually scale the side of my house.  
McCree: Hold on there just a pretty moment. This is yer house? You live here?  
Hanzo: *Stares back at him blankly. He realizes there’s no way the cowboy could have known they were at his house, but…*  
Hanzo: You believe I sit atop conveniently placed wooden platforms on random people’s homes to speak with friends?  
McCree: Fuck my guy, I don’t know shit ‘bout ya. Y’could run around suckin’ dicks for all I care!  
***  
McCree: Hey, y’know, I never did get somethin’.  
Hanzo: Hm?  
McCree: If ya live out here in Inagi, how come we met in Hanamura? Y’said ya don’t live there anymore, how come ya still got a room an’ everythin’? Y’know, that big ol’ plot hole. Ya never even actually EXPLAINED why ya knocked me unconscious instead o’ tryna kill me.  
Hanzo: It was safer to meet in public than at my own home. I arranged the time during the quietest guarding hours. I saw someone coming and struck you, hid your body, then cleared myself a path inside. None of the cleaning staff can particularly differentiate from the Shimada heads--they are instead trained to recognize tattoos.   
McCree: So if ya hadn’t actually gone back fer my wallet after leavin’ it inside…  
Hanzo: I lied. I simply wished to speak longer.  
McCree: Real cute.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration to write this really got me back into the swing of writing fanfiction when I wrote this last year; I've finally decided to post it where people can appreciate it.  
> Attempted as a canon-compliant story to explore how McCree and Hanzo might realistically have a relationship in the Post-Recall Overwatch universe.  
> It should be noted that I had no clear plot outlined for the entirety of this fanfiction, I just wrote as I went along. Unfortunately I lost chapter 5, my dive into a dramatic stealth mission, so I've altered chapter 4 to end without any implication for more and I'm cutting it off there.  
> Other chapters will be uploaded by the end of the week.


End file.
